


An Errol in Time

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Mystery, Other, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complicated timey-wimey stuff in this story- namely, what if Fred II could save Fred I with the help of a certain, tattered owl?</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Errol in Time

 

Everyone told Fred Weasley that he reminded them of Fred Weasley. It  _ was _ his name, but somehow, it really  _ wasn’t _ his name at all. Everyone who saw him while he was helping his parents run the joke shop always commented about his similarities to his uncle once they saw his name tag.  Always, they went on about his similarity to Fred, the War Hero, despite his brown skin and his dark, tight curls of hair, whose only hint of red was in his copper highlights.  It  _ was _ true that his eyes were a striking icy blue just like his father’s. He supposed they were also like his uncle’s, whom he would never meet, but that was the extent of the resemblance. Fred often wondered why, when he  _ obviously _ took more after his mother’s side of the family, that everyone was obsessed with treating him as though the main point of his existence was to take up the mantle of his deceased uncle.

 

To be honest, it was irritating as hell.   
  


Fred had grown up in the living space built over the joke shop on Diagon Alley. He loved the bustle, the noise, and the seemingless endless throngs of people everywhere.  He loved looking out the high windows above the shop out into the street below and wonder where the wide variety of people were going and what they were like.  He loved that his parents were always there, either in the shop or in their home, which was right above it. They did not have to Apparate to their jobs or fly to work on a broom, like the parents of everyone else that he knew.  

 

He also loved that there were always visitors- either his cousins, his many aunts and uncles or his grandparents, popping by while they were on their way to do business or simply because they were in town and there was always an extra guest room to spend the night.  His mother, Angelina, was always welcoming of unexpected guests and skilled at putting them to work if they outstayed their welcome.  Her time as captain on the Gryffindor Quidditch team had made her quite adept at managing large groups of people.  It also meant that Fred Weasley had learned how to fly on a broom as though it was an extension of himself even before he was fully out of diapers.

 

Most of all, he loved his father’s workshop.  He adored assisting George Weasley with creating and bottling various new products. Sometimes, though, this had caused trouble.  His mother had given both he and his father hell when he’d once offered to try a new joke product that had made his hair go a different shade of the rainbow every five minutes until his father was able to figure out how to reverse it a week later. Teddy, of course, had found this hilarious and copied it immediately.  Within a few months, a more temporary version of the product, called “Prismatic Pompadour” was flying off the shelves as it became all the rage at Hogwarts. As a fourth year student, Fred had been both proud of himself as well as worried that this would be used as yet another point of similarly between himself and his namesake. 

 

There was also the problem of Professor McGonagall.  She had stayed on as Headmistress, was also his Head of House  _ and _ his Transfiguration professor. Fred could barely stand the sad, wistful looks she gave him in class or in the Great Hall, as though she was looking through him and imagining someone else.

 

In short, he would not change anything else about his life except, perhaps, his name.

  
  


It was Saturday afternoon. Fred was sitting alone by the Black Lake and watching the Giant Squid, who was using its tentacles to create massive, surprisingly complex shadow puppets on the far shore, when another shadow shot crazily out of the treeline to his left and circled erratically in the air above him. It was a rather rough-looking owl. It made another wobbly pass, gliding sideways before it slowed and began to plummet like a stone.  Belatedly, he realized that it was on a collision course with his head. With a shout, Fred flew backwards onto the ground. The feathery lump shot through the space where his face had been only seconds before and landed rather loudly in a prickly bush. The owl gave a rather undignified hoot as it struggled weakly to free itself, and Fred felt his heart soften.  

 

Fred was top of his class in Care of Magical Creatures, and he’d always been a bit of a sucker for the birds at Eeylops Owl Emporium. The owner was a friend of his father’s, which meant that Fred had been offered the opportunity to play with the owls so they didn’t get bored and clean their cages for extra pocket money during the summer breaks.  The summer before he’d started at Hogwarts, he’d forgone the monetary part of the arrangement and was given his pick from the owlery. 

 

In the end, it was a short-eared owl that had chosen  _ him _ by latching onto his shoulder, rubbing her head against his cheek and hooting softly.  She was large for her species with tiny speckled tufts growing out of the top of her head and great yellowish-green eyes that belied an intelligence that seemed beyond any of the other birds in the shop. The dark markings around her eyes gave her a permanently skeptical expression, which fit her since her personality seemed far more sarcastic than any owl he’d ever met. He’d named her Lady Elena, and she was so close to him that his Uncle Charlie had built a special perch and wooden owl house for his dorm up in Gryffindor tower after he’d complained that there was no place for Lady Elena to perch when she flew up through his window in the mornings to wake him up (due to the fact that he slept like the dead and only her habit of nibbling at his ear seemed to work to rouse him).

 

As he pulled the rather threadbare owl from the bush, gently disentangling its wings and being sure to hold the bird at the back where it could not peck or claw at him in terror, he noticed the piece of parchment that lay crumpled in a heap near the bush.

 

"Where did that come from?" he wondered aloud, using his wand to increase the padding on his arm so that he could transfer the owl to it. “Does it belong to you?”

 

The owl made a sad hacking noise and shook itself, dislodging a number of feathers from its neck.  A number of patchy, raw places stood out on its body, making it look like it was nearly on death’s door.

 

“You poor thing.  I can’t leave you like this!” Fred said, scratching the bird softly under the chin as he tucked the parchment into his robes with the other hand. 

 

It was then that he noticed the strange, golden chain clasped around the bird’s neck.  Attached to it was a small orb with a golden sand-like material inside as well as a tiny golden tag etched with a name.

 

“Errol.”  Fred smiled at the bird as it clicked its beak and bobbed happily. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

 

Fred walked carefully back to Hagrid’s hut and explained the situation to the half-giant, who sprang into action and ushered Fred into his Infirmary to help the poor injured creature.  Hagrid had expanded his living space, and not only taught Care of Magical Creatures but was also the unofficial Head Healer at the Hogwarts Infirmary for Magical Creatures. A number of his best students had come together and helped him build a special clinic building out back behind his hut, and they ran it all on donations and volunteers.  It was a mark of pride for Hagrid, who was liable to burst into tears at the thought of a Blast-Ended Skrewt stubbing a toe.

 

After Errol was patched up and salve had been rubbed on his raw, tender wounds, Fred bid Hagrid goodbye and walked back up to the castle with the bird on his arm.  Poor Errol had clung to him for dear life as though he’d never known any other kindness, so Fred had assured Hagrid that he’d just put Errol up on his perch in the dorms and be sure to apply the salve as needed.  Lady Elena flew over from her perch and landed on his shoulder with a suspicious hoot as he reached the dorms.

 

“He’s hurt, Lady,” Fred said softly, pulling a tiny dried newt from his robes, which she took eagerly. “We need to make sure he gets better.”

 

She closed her eyes halfway and looked Errol up and down appraisingly. A short hoot later told Fred that she was willing to do as he’d asked but she reserved the right to be unhappy about it.

 

None of his dorm mates were in the room yet, as it was far too early in the day, and truth be told, Fred was glad for that. 

 

Laying back against his bed after transferring Errol to the perch, he suddenly remembered the parchment he’d stuffed in his robes earlier and pulled it out, looking at the unfamiliar (and rather messy) handwriting on the outside of the folded paper.

 

“This Very Important Document is Only to be Opened by Fred Weasley.” he read aloud, sharing a confused expression with Lady Elena, who bent down from her perch on his shoulder and eyed the writing with half-closed eyes filled with suspicion. “Well then, I guess it is for me.  Better open it and see what it says, eh?”

 

First, though, he pulled out his wand and cast a diagnostic spell on it.  Having worked in a joke shop for so long, Fred was rather knowledgeable about pranked messages, and after having received a Sneezing Hex imbued letter from his cousin James (who thought such things were hilarious), he thought twice before just opening strange bits of paper willy-nilly.  He was secretly glad that James had not chosen the Flatulence Flyer to compose his note, as it only activated in the worst possible situations where one could fart.

 

Nothing registered, so he carefully peeled back the parchment, which had been folded in almost an origami-esque pattern, and read the letter within, his eyes widening with every line.

 

_ Dear Fred (well, me I guess),  _ the letter read.

 

_ I bet you weren’t expecting a letter from your younger self! Crazy, isn’t it? I mean, not as crazy as the time that I glued Percy’s head to the ceiling accidentally, but you know what I mean. How did I accomplish it, you might ask? Well, actually, you probably already know the details, but I’m just so excited that I have to write it down anyway.   _

 

_ I’ve been experimenting with this stuff I nicked from Snape’s storeroom.  It’s called Time Sand and it’s apparently quite rare indeed.  Boy, was he in a right state when he found out it was missing. Can you remember how red his big old beak got, because I can remember it like it was yesterday!  Probably because it was. Ha!   _

 

_ Anyway, so if everything went fine, which, I’m fairly certain it has if you’re reading this right now, I’ve sent Errol, our trusty rusty owl (more rusty than trusty if you ask me, but that’s beside the point) forward in time to get something from you.  Obviously, I wouldn’t send an owl through the time-space continuum just for the fun of it...well...at least I  _ **_probably_ ** _ wouldn’t.  _

 

_ The thing is, I need some of your oh-so-adult hair. Just a few strands.  You won’t miss them, I promise.  The reason? I want to put it in the Goblet of FIre for the honor and glory and the money.  Well, actually, mostly the money. I’m not quite exactly sure how all this time stuff works. So if you’re Poor Fred of the Future, you may just be able to save yourself from the horrible fate of poverty.  And if you’re Rich Fred (please be Rich Fred, oh please, oh please), just remember that this is probably how you accomplished it. _

 

_ Really, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain! _

 

_ Simply place a lock of your hair in an envelope and give it to Errol after you turn the little sand orb around his neck upside down.  Once the sand turns blue, it should be a matter of moments before Errol rockets back through time and gives me what I need to change history as we know it!  _

 

_ Be sure not to include anything about the future in there, though.  I read that this time stuff can be a bit tricky and such, and I’d like to leave the meddling to a minimum, especially when it comes to the chances of it messing with all of our carefully made plans. _

 

_ Oh, and don’t tell George.  I want to see the stunned look on his face when I cross over that line and he can’t. It’ll be the perfect prank!  I want to remember it for the rest of my life. _

 

_ Anyway, Sorry for writing a novel here, but I’ll sum things up:  _

 

_ 1) Place lock of hair in envelope.  _

_ 2) Give to Errol and twist sand orb until sand turns blue.   _

_ 3) ????????? _

_ 4) Profit! _

 

_ Hope to see you on the other side, me! _

 

_ -Fred _

 

When he finished reading, Fred turned the page over, almost as though expecting a  _ Gotcha!  _ or _ April Fools! _ message written there.  But there was no such thing, and he couldn’t imagine who would play such a tasteless prank on him.  Which really only left one possibility.  It was  _ real _ .

Fred had no idea what he would do.  Should he send back a letter telling his uncle that he’d died?  It seemed horribly unfair to do so.  And he had no idea if it would even work, either.  Or, like the letter mentioned, it might destroy time as he knew it.  The thought was nearly unbearable.

 

But still, Fred realized that he had to do  _ something _ . Besides, poor Errol was in no shape to go back in time anyway.

 

And so, he waited a week, then two, then three.  Even though the parchment was safely hidden in his trunk, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.  Finally, after a month had passed, Fred had to admit that Errol looked much better, at least for a bird of his age, and he’d procrastinated enough.

 

And so, he sat down with a small piece of paper and composed a note that he hoped would give just enough information without exploding all of time and space in the process.

 

_ Dear Fred, _ he wrote.

 

_ My name is also Fred, but I’m not the you that you intended to receive this letter. George is my dad, actually, and my mum is Angelina.  You might know her; she was on your quidditch team in school.  I can’t say too much here, due to the whole time exploding thing that you mentioned, but I just wanted to let you know two things.  First of all, it is impossible to get a lock of your older self’s hair.  I am fairly certain you can figure out why.  Secondly, once you get your joke shop with dad, please research how to stop or deflect Unforgivables.  Everyone you care about should keep it on themselves at all times.  I’m sure that I do not need to spell out the reason for that, either. _

 

_ Please reward Errol handsomely for his journey.  He deserves it, poor thing. _

 

_ Your nephew, _

 

_ Fred Weasley _

 

Fred did as instructed by the letter and placed the information in an envelope, gave it to Errol and then twisted the Sand Orb upside down until it began to turn blue.  Errol clambered onto his arm eagerly and hooted softly as though saying farewell. Then, opening the window next to his bed, he threw up his arm and Errol spread his wings, awkwardly catching the wind and dropping somewhat sharply before picking up and rising back into the air.  With an electric charge that made Fred’s hair stand on end, the owl turned a bright, shimmering blue and melted into thin air.

 

The moment that the owl disappeared, a sharp pain filled his head and he doubled over in pain.  His thoughts fragmented- two sets appeared in his mind and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something horrible.  But then, as soon as it had started, it was gone.

 

Fred felt the sudden urge to run to the memorial statue, so he did so, taking the steps two at a time.

 

An old wizard that he didn’t recognize wearing bright purple robes turned the corner ahead of him, but he continued on without stopping.  When he finally arrived, he simply stood there, mouth agape. A large fountain stood in the same spot with a life-sized sculpture of his father and his uncle standing side by side.

 

“Well, hello there, Fred.” said a voice from behind him, and he turned around, his eyes widening.

 

The man smiled wide under his well-combed moustache and Fred knew at once who he was.  

 

“Uncle!” he cried out, as tears welled up in his eyes.

 

Suddenly, he remembered the secret salve that his father and uncle had created after they’d started their business that, once applied, repelled the effects of any curse,  _ including _ Unforgivables.

 

It became standard issue in the Auror’s office, by the Minister and saved hundreds of lives.  Fred remembered now that his uncle had a family, two cousins he’d never known until that moment, but whose memories were beginning to become clearer by the second.

 

Fred felt a surge of pride welling up in his chest. Perhaps it really was true what they said about the importance of a name.

 

For now he too was a hero.


End file.
